


hunteri solitarius.

by outpastthemoat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8x08, Coda, M/M, Season gr8, hunteri heroici
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outpastthemoat/pseuds/outpastthemoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Drink up,” Dean says, and pops the cap off his own beer.</p><p>Cas twists his bottle around in his hands. “What’s this for?” he asks slowly.</p><p>“Your first case,” Dean tells him, and Cas’s eyes slide away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hunteri solitarius.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this ficlet a week before the "Hunteri Heroici" aired, as a look at what might happen in the episode, but I think it works well enough as a coda.

Dean grabs two beers from the six pack and heads outside.  

Cas stands in the parking lot, haloed by the spotlight of a flickering streetlamp, and though he’s standing close to the Impala, he doesn’t lean against her.  He never does; whatever unspoken set of rules he follows doesn’t seem to allow him to lean against anything, not Dean, not even his car.

He hands Cas a beer, and Cas stares at it, bemused. He narrows his eyes, and Dean fights back a smile; he always looks so suspiciously at alcohol.  

"Drink up,” Dean says, and pops the cap off his own beer.

Cas twists his bottle around in his hands. “What’s this for?” he asks slowly.

“Your first case,” Dean tells him, and Cas’s eyes slide away.  

“It was hardly a success,” Cas says heavily, and Dean can remember a time when Cas stood as still as stone, never allowing an emotion to slip past his guard; now his hands twitch, useless, against his side, and he shifts his weight anxiously.  

“Hey, we can’t win them all,” Dean says, knowing even as he says it that it’s a singularly base form of hypocrisy. “Don’t let it get you down.  You said it yourself, remember? You can’t save everyone.”

Cas shoots him a black look at that, and Dean tips his beer back and grimaces; yeah, that was probably a really shitty thing to say. They stand in silence for a moment, and Cas sighs, almost inaudibly.   

“I’m sorry, Dean.  You don’t have to stay,” Cas says, and Dean looks up, eyes stinging, wondering uneasily if Cas wants him to leave.  But no, it’s not that, Cas’s eyes are simply tired and mournful.  “I don’t think I’m capable of being very good company.”

Dean places his beer on the Impala’s roof, shoves his fists deep inside the pockets of his jacket.  “Hey, I want to stay,” he objects, because for some reason it’s suddenly important that he should stay right where he is, standing in the parking lot with Cas, and before he can think about it he adds, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”  

And though Cas blinks at him in surprise, it’s true, it’s so very true, because more than anything Dean wants to press his face into the lapels of Cas’s trenchcoat, wants to breathe in his smell, wants feel the rise and fall of Cas’s chest and revel in the knowledge that Cas is alive, and though he may not be alive and well, at least he’s  _here_ , at least he’s here for now.

Yeah, there isn’t anything Dean wants right now except Cas’s arm brushing up against his own, the feel of their elbows bumping companionably, just like this, for as long as possible; wants to feel Cas’s quiet, solid presence by his side, and though Cas is weary and guilt-torn and grieving, he’ll take it, he’ll take however much of Cas he can get, because oh  _god_   it’s better than having no Cas at all.  

Dean wishes he could say that sort of thing out loud, but though he can almost taste the words on the back of his tongue he can never get them out, so maybe it’s enough that he’s here by Cas’s side, not leaving.

Cas glances at him, lets loose a little flickering smile that disappears into the darkness.  “I’m not that much fun,” Cas says, deadpan, and Dean recalls with a sudden surge of shame that he had been the one who said those words first, long ago.

“You don’t have to be fun,” Dean says, and shakes his head.  “Just be  _you_.  I like you just the way you are.”

Cas gives him a strange look then, skeptical maybe, and Dean wonders if somehow, despite himself, he’ll manage to get through to him.  “I like having you here,” Dean tells him, and hopes that Cas will understand.

Cas never leans on him, Cas only ever places a hand on his shoulder, but maybe if Dean just keeps standing next to Cas long enough, close enough for their arms to brush against each other, well, maybe it will help Cas stand a little straighter.

And if Dean stays here by his side, maybe Cas will understand that he  _could_  lean on him, if he wanted.

So he nudges Cas gently with his shoulder.  ”Shut up and drink your beer,” he orders, and Cas does.


End file.
